


'A Giant Fish Tank with a Mage Inside'

by Scibie



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 17:22:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1907448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scibie/pseuds/Scibie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Lalna manages to capture his old ‘friend’ and restarts his study of the strange enderborn, with his thick accent and shadowy scarf. Rythian is Lalna’s greatest creation after all, he belongs at his side.<br/>[DISCONTINUED]</p>
            </blockquote>





	'A Giant Fish Tank with a Mage Inside'

Admittedly, the forcefield idea was a tad hurried, thought of at the last minute and constructed in half that time. Solar power hadn’t been the smartest move, because what Rythian lacked in friends, they made up for in their own kind of intellect. Really, Lalna hadn’t been surprised when he returned to his castle to see Rythian long gone. He doubted that the nuke held any sway over the enderborn either, unless Zoey returned and their sentimentality came back. Which it shouldn’t do, as long as Rythian was kept isolated. His calculations told him as much. 

No, Lalna knew Rythian would return. It was entertaining really, seeing the ‘man’ so worked up, their little magic tools clutched in their hands, which trembled with rage. Lalna was safe from the mage floating at his window, his forcefield more than adequate to keep an angry Rythian out. Well, sort of. There was a way in, specially crafted to be there, a hole at the back of the property, leading into a small obsidian room. More of a cat flap to tempt his creation back.

Yes, Rythian was Lalna’s, though they wouldn’t know. Not yet, anyways, not until Lalna thought it time for them to know. Endermen were interesting, with their links to the Enderdragon, and to the mysterious realm of the end. It had only been a throwaway test, a quick session with an enderman that wouldn’t teleport away, that had irritated Lalna for many weeks. He had not hypothesised that endermen could achieve ‘playerdom’. That fabled state that all the ‘human’ members of this land held (if you could call them that, they were so varied in race and appearance, from dwarves to what Lalna suspected may be an alien). When he’d looked down to see the enderman no longer there, but instead something approaching a man, lilac scars and markings marring otherwise pale skin, especially his mouth, which had the appearance of a chelsea smile, thick scar tissue clustered at the seams of the new player’s mouth, glowing faintly in the gloom, he had been a little surprised, admittedly. What interested him most was the streak of blond in the otherwise dark hair, almost exactly the same shade as his own. Lalna wondered if that had been anything to do with him. Selfishly, he hoped it did. 

He’d been foolish to let them escape, all those years ago, when he had been younger, more naive, his moral compass still free of rust. He told himself that experimenting on _players_ was wrong, that some things were not meant to be messed with. Yet he never forgot how Rythian had first come to be, it plagued him through the years. He watched with a twisted sense of pride as Rythian began to develop, as they slowly grew and made connections with others, built themselves a house and became so like the others. Lalna itched to learn whether it was instinct or not, how the enderborn knew how to do these things, how to use a crafting table and more besides. The basalt palace they (Lalna refused to call the thing ‘he’) constructed, the friend they made in the odd mushroom girl and in the mute dinosaur, in the pool boy and in the Scottish bartender, and the enemies it made in Sjin and himself, deluded with images of an apocalypse that never happened. No wonder only the crazies associated with Rythian, it was just as insane as them. Lalna let them have their little life, sat in his office and made notes about how they changed and grew, how their accent may be part of their heritage and how they seemed to exhibit a sense of shame about the state of their body. His favourite part was Rythian’s _fear_ of science, the way they panicked when they saw Zoey’s (strangely ingenious) computer system, pushed her away, kept their distance from Honeydew Inc and Sipsco because of it.

Rythian was fascinating. 

Lalna wanted them back. 

So when Rythian came flying up to him, demanding revenge for an event that had never happened, Lalna was happy to oblige and let them close, to trap them. Rythian had been amusing in the little cage, a moth to a light when the light was Lalna himself, bashing itself against the force-field walls or pacing back and forth like a captive tiger, striking eyes glowering at him through the blue and red, their hatred not lost on Lalna. The force-field was more of a protective measure to keep himself safe, because Rythian had made themselves strong over the years, mastered magic in a way that Lalna had never done. It was wrong to be envious of such a lesser being, when Lalna was fully human and Rythian little more than sentient mob, but all the same, Lalna was, and it burned in his mind that his experiment could be so insolent as to surpass him in any way. Once Rythian knew their place again, Lalna would learn what they knew, how they knew. 

It amused him to think that Rythian would be so smug to find the supposed back door into his castle, that they would have no idea what they were walking into. The way those sharp abnormal teeth would grit together, the pouting angry stride, the clenched fists, the sighs as they began to realise it wasn’t getting out. Yes, it would be good.

As per usual, Rythian performed their role to a T. It always did, Lalna’s calculations never seemed to be wrong, not when it came to Rythian. Down to the exact glare that Rythian gave the walls of his prison. It was satisfying when he was right (though it was unusual that he wasn’t) and it was even more so that Rythian still acted so predictably. Even after all this time, after all the enderborn’s growth, they still belong to Lalna. It makes him more proud than any of Rythian's ‘achievements’, which are empty and useless, because they’re all Lalna’s, really. That’s just another perk to owning Rythian. (Even if Rythian doesn’t know that they’re owned so completely, that their entire existence is down to Lalna’s irritation and curiosity, that the life they built is shaped so expertly by Lalna’s influence.) 

When Lalna activates the screens embedded in the walls (protected by yet another force-field, much to the enderborn’s disgust), he can imagine the soft murmur of ‘Zoey?’ as they see their precious love wander so willingly into his castle. Lalna doesn’t even need Zoey for any of his own experiments, she’s merely there because Rythian has become so dependent on her. Lalna is equal parts charming, cunning, cheerful; Zoey has no clue what secrets he holds in his palm as she enquires so cluelessly about guns and lasers and force-fields. He can see the wide-eyed horror on Rythian’s pale and scarred face as she assures him that she will be back. 

A little after Zoey’s visit, Lalna visits Rythian, safe behind the forcefield that hems them in, and the way Rythian throws himself against the forcefield is wonderful, made even better by the way they shrink back as it stings to the touch and then notice the unusual colour. “What is this bullshit?” Rythian demands, their skin still smarting from the contact. Lalna just giggles at them, the way he knows makes his experiment’s blood boil (that’s a point, Lalna realises, he’s never seen the enderborn’s _blood_ ) and shrugs.  
“Just a force-field. Wouldn’t get chummy with it I suppose.” He adds, nonchalant. It’s a special one of course, one that will slowly weaken Rythian, whether he touches it or not. It seems like irony that its the same purple as Rythian’s scars, perhaps a nod that he knows more about Rythian than Rythian does about themselves, but the colour is more than a mere reminder. However Lalna does love to tease them, even after all these years. When he sweeps out of the room, Rythian shouting muffled curses at his back, it feels _good_ to be the one in charge. 

Over the next weeks, it’s a joy to watch Rythian struggle against the effects of the force-field, coupled with Zoey’s increasingly frequent visits to break him down even further. An interesting observation is the increased presence of what Lalna nicknames ‘ender fluff’ - those little particles that endermen left behind when they teleported - it floats around Rythian incessantly, and evidently worries them, Lalna has noticed them swat at it with panicked eyes. In the dark too, Lalna makes another observation. Rythian glows faintly, as if there were something glowing within them, a deep purple light that just breaches their skin, glints against the fluff when Rythian sleeps, and utterly fascinates Lalna. 

His hands ache to open Rythian up, to take them apart piece by piece and _understand_. But that would mean no more enderborn in his clutches, no more new discoveries. Lalna can’t have that, no. So he leaves Rythian to stew, alone in the dark, with only the screens that show them Zoey to light their existence and their own glow. All Rythian has to their name is what they had in their inventory when they entered (which Lalna plans to confiscate soon) and a bed. As the days progress, so does Rythian’s antsy behaviour. They cannot stay still, and often it seems that their skin is crawling, the way they claw at their arms so desperately when they think no one is looking. Lalna doesn’t feed Rythian. He knows that they don’t need to eat, that they only do so out of habit, because endermen survive off their connection to the end, and so does Rythian, if Lalna’s suspicions are correct. Which is why the force-field should really be called more of a filter. It filters out the frequency of the end (something Lalna had been delighted to discover existed), starves Rythian of what they need, burns their skin if they touch it, upsets the balance of player to enderman that Rythian has to control so tightly. And if it happens that Lalna might be adding Zoey to the mix just for shits and giggles, well that’s no one’s business but his own. 

When Lalna next climbs down into that special basement reserved for his greatest creation, Rythian’s balance between what they are and what they used to be is slowly and obviously tipped to one side. It’s their _eyes_. Lalna thinks they’re beautiful but Rythian refuses to meet his eyes and it irritates him to no end. Rythian’s sclera are beginning to darken, a heavy gray, their irises a soft lavender as they morph from the sky blue they had been back to a more ender-esque purple. Despite himself, Lalna finds the shaking form of Rythian, sat hunched on their bed, fingers clawing into their upper arms, a soft purple glow emanating from their uncovered skin and ender fluff drifting around them, propelled by currents unfelt by the two of them, breathtaking. It’s not just their appearance, gaunt and gangly, all hard angles and bone, but the fact that this being in front of him is _his_. He made them, he owns them, he has them in the palm of his hand, and he knows he moulded them into what they are now. 

Rythian isn’t perfect, not yet. He’s not perfect until he’s broken. The irony of this doesn’t escape Lalna, and he chuckles, boyish and sweet, a contrast to his entire personality. Rythian’s fantastic eyes glance up to see him there, and the _hatred_ that burns in those unique eyes is enough to kill a lesser player. “Lalna.” They growl, voice huskier than usual. Was that the time alone? Was it the slow transformation? Lalna desires to _know_.  
“Hullo Rythian, how’re you holding up? You look…” He waves his hand in a roundabout manner. “...at your wits **end**.” He stresses that last part, makes sure Rythian notices the heavy insistence on which word was important.  
And because Lalna would never create something stupid (what a joke, he thinks, half the things he makes are stupid), Rythian catches the cue perfectly. “What are you suggesting about the end Laln-” The realisation is sweet on Rythian’s face. “The End?” He questions.  
Not one for easy answers, Lalna just chuckles. “Poor little Rythian, so alone and so _special_ looking. Be a dear and pull down the mask? Oh wait, you won’t, because you’re trying to hide something. Too bad I know that secret.”  
There’s a jolt as Rythian hears that past the jovial, lighthearted tone, Lalna isn’t bluffing. Lalna didn’t bluff, they’d learnt that from the nuke and his fingers slowly move as though to pull the mask away but pause, as if the movements before had been a subconscious reaction. But then their hand drops away, supposedly recovering from the shock, and Rythian makes no move to take that infernal mask off. Really, how rude. Lalna needed to see _all_ of the mage, for research purposes. 

Disappointed, Lalna leaves Rythian in the darkness again, for longer.

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever fic for The Yogscast! Please excuse any inaccuracies, this is purely a guilty-pleasure fic filled with my horrible headcanons...


End file.
